"The train?" suggested Baynell.
"The train is in, sir."
"Must have been a freight," Baynell hazarded, for the indefinite vibration had ceased.
"That's 'hep, hep, hep,'—that's marching feet, sir,—that's what it is!"
"Well, what of that?" Baynell demanded. "It's the corporal of the guard going out with the relief."
"It's too early——"
"Grand Rounds, possibly."
"It's too near," objected the man. "It's very near."
The wind struck their faces with a dank fillip of dew. The vine hard by was dripping; they could hear the drops fall, and a silent interval, and again a falling drop.
"There is nothing now," said Baynell. "It was doubtless some patrol. The air is very moist, and sounds are heavier than usual."